Side-Walker

My American life now is very different than what I thought it would be. When I made the decision to return to the U.S. after almost four years living overseas, I knew it wasn't going to be easy. I didn't contemplate how exactly it wasn't going to be easy and the details of all of that. I just knew.

A month after settling into life in Baltimore, I find myself being a bit of an odd ball. I can be an American because, well, I am white; and not that non-white people aren't American, they are, there's just not as much speculation living in a U.S. metropolitan city that I would be from Thailand, India or Switzerland. I am most definitely an American based on my level of student loan debt but not many people see that. Many people have commented on my accent: some say I am a Nuw Yawka, another guessed eastern European and others just don't know. When I tell people I don't have a car, they look at me with pity like I have lost something more important than a limb and almost apologize for how challenging my life must be.

I have become a side-walker - literally and metaphorically. I have seen and continue to see into the lives of other people from the periphery, trying to take the good and bad all for personal growth and good use.

In the last month, I have walked several miles to the grocery store and back, home from work, to the coffee shop, taking a stroll or just meeting people for dinner. I am a pedestrian. I have realized that life is a lot more vulnerable when you are not a car owner. I am subject to it all: beggars, weather, dogs and drivers on their cell phones swerving to miss hitting me while I cross the street when it's my turn signaled by that little man in the box who turned from red to white.

It looks safe and warm inside those cars. It looks comfortable, convenient. It is much faster than whatever means of transportation I am taking whether it be a bus, metro, light rail or my own two feet. While living in the U.S., I have never known life without a vehicle, until now. But I have learned more about Joe Smith walking down the street talking on his phone in much higher decibels than necessary speaking of taking a relationship to the next level or Jim Bob on the train calling his Mama about how maaaddd he be at Susie. Thus far I have fought the urge to buy ear buds in an effort to tune my and the rest of the world out in an effort to experience the world for what it is, despite unpleasantries.

Aside from the literal side-walking activities I have done of late, I find that my greatest challenge is in my mind - daily walking on all sides of my education, life experience and spiritual upbringing. I am a hodgepodge. I am becoming more and more resistant to norms. Perhaps I live in one of the most dangerous cities in the world because I am used to living in adventure. My refrigerator only contains food for this week because my British partner has taught me other people live with one the size of a shoe box and survive. In a month, I am abandoning my smart phone for a Haitian Chinese Nokia. My apartment is full of African art. I am strange, or so the world around me and the voices of my past experience at battle with each other tell me.

I am trying to embrace my place in my strange-ness. I notice that it challenges people, even makes them uncomfortable. When I tell someone I am walking a mile home, they get a sense of obligation to drive me verbalizing that it is too far to walk. Or when I offer to pay for dinner, I get a sense of surprise and shock that people still do that. The man asking for food outside the grocery store who I gave bananas too, he was taken-aback that anyone would actually fulfill his request.

I have American blood in my veins, Jesus in my heart, British in my vocabulary, second-hand store on my person and the desire to live simply from the poor in Africa.

This is me.

Crotchety Old Lady am I

I am an old soul. In fact, it's official - I am old! This isn't really a secret because Gabs has been telling me this fact for a long time but I wasn't ready to believe him - until now. In fact, he sometimes describes me as a "boring adult" which sadly I am ok with. One week after my 27th birthday, I am ready to admit it: my youth is fading and my age is ripening. How do I know this? In the last three months I have lived out of the same suitcase and in/on 17 different hotels, homes, cabins, wagons, hostels, and couches in 5 different states and 4 countries and I am SO tired!

I want my own kitchen, front door, thermostat(!) and most of all my own bed with my own boring routine without any cats, dogs, rats, kids, chickens, sheep or roommates. See! I am crotchety! I can imagine that 18 year young me would be enjoying this adventure but 27 year old me is beginning to forget who 18 year young me is. The tenacity of a vagabond is commendable. The flexibility of permanent couch surfers is admirable. And a studio apartment with a 10 o'clock bed time, morning news, 8-5pm job, and a cup of chai tea sounds as exciting as the time I jumped out of a plane skydiving in Cape Town, South Africa.

Old lady aspirations aside, these cats and kids and couches and countries have demonstrated to me that I am loved. There are amazing people out there: family, friends, in- laws and strangers. Generosity is alive and well and I am proof of that, just read my itinerary above or check my passport. As the old saying goes, "it is more blessed to give than to receive" -- sure, I can agree with that but being on the flip, receiving side these last few months, I can say that I am blessed! Perhaps it is a blessing to give but it is a humbling challenge to receive.

I hope someday when I truly am an old lady, say after 30, I will be just as generous and hospitable to such a wanderer as myself. But instead of a roommate and a dog, perhaps I will have a husband and a duck. I hope I will be flexible to accept frantic same-day crashing requests, generous to pay for a meal and exceptional in giving $100 to a friend just to help "fill the gaps."

The last three months has been filled with much more than 17 beds, 4 countries and 5 states. It has been filled with sweet conversations, tender kisses, laughter, zip lines, food and love.
Thank you friends!

"This is going to be our year!"

Facebook does a year look back of all of the highlights, most commented moments, or photos of the last year. I saw mine a few days ago and it brought back a lot of memories. 2013 has flown by but it has been very full of happy times, sadness and life-changing decisions.

The top on my 2013 Facebook list was my surprise birthday party Gab planned for me the day I flew back to Congo after Christmas vacation. I had never had a surprise party before so it was very special and meaningful. But more than anything else, I remember something Gab said to me. He said, "this is going to be our year..." At the time I don't think he meant 'ours' as in us as a couple but more so 'you' + 'me' in the plural sense. He tends to have intuitions and secret plans about us before I do so he could have meant anything by that statement.

Regardless, I am happy to say that it has been our year as a couple. My capstone "our year" moment came in July. It brought a smile to my face remembering that day and those special minutes surrounding my "YES!" response to Gab's proposal. The cold weather and snow made those happy memories even more warm and cozy thinking of white sand beaches, the crystal blue Indian Ocean and fresh passion fruit juice. But what was even more warm and cozy was that feeling of confidence in my heart when Gab asked me to marry him.

It was a Saturday. We had just arrived in Zanzibar the day prior and being warn out from travel, we relaxed in hammocks by the ocean. I knew that evening Gab had planned an outing. His previous trip to Zanzibar, he and a friend discovered a deserted mangrove forest. We drove about 25mins from our hotel to an abandoned site where some Italian developers yelled at us for trespassing. We eventually reached a channel where we either had to swim across or find a drier means. Thankfully there were some paddle boards on the waters edge and their owners graciously let us slide across to the other side.

I think this adventure leading up to the main event was Gab's final test to see if I really was the one he wanted to marry. First he dressed me in these over sized, men's water shoes. He claimed that I needed to protect my feet. Granted I did but I didn't need to look like a duck in the process. Secondly he didn't tell me where we were going. He acted as though I was to blindly follow him on this excursion wading through channels and hiking through mangroves no questions asked. I did bite my sometimes outspoken tongue and went with the flow.

We arrived to a deserted restaurant on a secluded beach facing west. The sunset was promising to be beautiful. July is 'winter' south of the equator and the ocean wasn't as warm as we would have liked; however, we wanted to take advantage of the scenery, the sunset, and the effort of hiking in so we braved the cold water. A few minutes later Gab said he wanted to set his towel out to keep drying while we were swimming. Unbeknownst to me, he actually went to get the ring he had made in Congo.

He swam up to me in the water distracting me with shells. I wasn't too interested as I was more concerned about staying warm. Gab finally said to me "I made you something..." and held up a gold ring which I eagerly took from him exclaiming "it's so pretty!" I did take note that it was gold and subconsciously asked myself which finger it goes on still not actually clicking that it was all part of a proposal.

I was a bit confused what Gab's point actually was until he finally said, "I want to ask you to be my wife." To which I responded, "are you proposing to me?" When we finally got on the same page, I couldn't have been more than ecstatic and was speechless to the point where Gab finally had to ask me for verbal confirmation. In that moment, I remember feeling every emotion: excitement, relief, joy, but most of all a sense of calm and peace. Bliss.

2013 really has been "our year!" It hasn't been easy. All of our moments haven't been as joyous as those shared at sunset on a tropical island. But at least I can look back and see the steps we have taken, the joy we have experienced, and the love we share. Just like I started the 2013 off with Gab, I am even more excited to finish it off with him as well. I hope 2014 will be only be an extension of "our year."

Moldy Grape Pie

One of my favorite homemade treats is my mom’s grape filling. It is fall, family, love, and palatal goodness in a jar. I brought one jar to Congo with me last June and saved it for a special occasion. That occasion was Gab’s 30th birthday. I told him it was the most precious gift I could give him to celebrate this milestone. It was a conditional gift – he had to share it with me and only me. It was our secret. Monday night we delved into that pie with moderation, only eating a few forkfuls in order to savor the deliciousness for tomorrow not knowing what awaited the next day.
 

It has been a long time since I have experienced all of the fall holidays in the US sequentially : Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. It feels more than ever that Thanksgiving is a forgotten holiday – there is Halloween and then there is Christmas nothing in between. Stores are even opening on Thanksgiving advancing black Friday shopping a day early. It is as if commercialism is trying to eat family dinner, or at least downplay the significance of such a powerful family tradition. 

I have been thinking about Thanksgiving a lot recently as the holiday marks the anniversary surrounding the events that led to the evacuation of my team from Congo. Instead of eating turkey, we ate curry and rice three times a day in a Bangladesh UN camp. The two days before the holiday, Thanksgiving day, and the day after were perhaps the worst days of my life. These days are randomly re-lived in my subconscious.

I remember calling home Thanksgiving morning with reports of being shot at, crawling on the ground, and hiding in a sandbag shelter. Moments before crying with my sister on the phone telling her I didn’t know what was going to happen to us, I collapsed in Gab’s arms experiencing a complete mental breakdown. Through the sobs I whispered to her "Happy Thanksgiving" not even sure what that actually meant for me and my team.

This Thanksgiving gives pause for reflection. It reminds me of the things I took for granted such as safety, a  bed, and non-spicy breakfast food. But even more than that, I realized what I was really thankful for : communication, airplanes and committed pilots, family and the host of people praying and supporting me to the extent that I will never completely know.

If you are one of those people tempted to go shopping on Thanksgiving in order to score the best deals, I would encourage you not to. It was the laptop, camera, shoes, and clothes I left behind when we evacuated not sure if they would be stolen or there when and if we got back. Those things were the fartherst from my mind when I called home last year on Thanksgiving day. All I wanted was a piece of turkey and my family, not a black Friday 50% off sweater.

When we got back to Congo after one week of rest in Uganda, Gab found the grape pie molded in the fridge. The value I had placed on that pie had drastically depreciated ; however, the things that jar represented as listed above such as love and family had a new, more important signification. Thanksgiving will always be that for me now – moldy grape pie.